


push/pull

by venhediss



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Compliant, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort but mostly comfort, M/M, i'll be this entire tag if i have to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 23:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12023190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venhediss/pseuds/venhediss
Summary: Their acquaintanceship, while somewhat brief, had run deep. Volfred knew by now that Tariq’s concerns were like the moon on a cloudy night, appearing and disappearing as they would. Catching a glimpse of them was difficult; pressing their owner about them was nigh impossible. He would reveal himself when he saw fit.





	push/pull

The hour was late, the chill heights of Mount Alodiel washed in the light of a near-full moon. Volfred was still awake, although it wasn’t that the next evening’s Liberation Rite weighed unduly on his mind; this had simply been his way since he had rejoined the Nightwings. He knew better than to force sleep when it wouldn’t come on its own and chose, instead, to while the time away in idle but pleasant conversation.

Ti’zo had long since retired for the night, fluttering sleepily up into the Blackwagon’s attic and leaving only Volfred and the Lone Minstrel outside, seated side by side. Sitting like this, even into the early morning, was quickly becoming a habit as well, and a not-unwelcome one at that. Conversation came and went: remarks on the new Nightwings, memories of days past, anecdotes, rumors. It was the sound of several long years of separation breaking apart and drifting away amidst comfortable silences.

It was into one of these silences that Tariq cast his next words, his brief hesitation palpable; it was not merely the darkness that made his expression unreadable.

“I trust, then, that these past few years have treated you well, Volfred, sir.”

“Yes, I suppose you could say that.” Volfred leaned back on one hand, the other bringing his pipe to his lips. He let his roots unfurl a bit, reach down into the packed earth between the cobbles of the Scribes’ Ascent.

“You suppose?”

The silence that followed was punctuated only by an occasional smoke ring and the distant, distant sound of rushing water. The moon was high. Tariq sat still, unnaturally so, and waited, perched on the edge of retreat.

Volfred let out a slow breath, leaning back with a quiet creak, his gaze still fixed on the stars. “I’d prefer if you didn’t do such things, Tariq.”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“You know precisely what I mean.” He spoke with the gentle chiding exasperation that came of having the same conversation for the hundredth time, but not truly minding that nothing ever changed. Unsurprisingly Tariq didn’t respond, so Volfred continued. “Please, in these matters, either state your intention clearly or say nothing more. You don’t need to hedge like this.”  _Not with me._

“Pardon me, sir, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You haven’t.” And then, quickly, because the minstrel had respectfully tipped his hat and seemed about to leave, “Tariq, you need not go, simply-” Tariq glanced up, eyes practically glowing even in the low light, face inscrutable. “-simply, state your intention clearly. Please.”

Volfred could practically feel the weight of Tariq’s consideration before he settled back into himself with a quiet “As you wish, sir.”

It was another long moment before he seemed compelled to speak again, in the deliberate manner of one used to measuring every word.

“My intention is merely to inquire after your health, sir.”

That earned a raised brow. “That is all?”

“That is all.”

It was impossible for Volfred to see through Tariq in the same way he could with others. It felt deeply inappropriate, even inconceivable, to pry too much in that way. But their acquaintanceship, while somewhat brief, had run deep. He knew by now that Tariq’s concerns were like the moon on a cloudy night, appearing and disappearing as they would. Catching a glimpse of them was difficult; pressing their owner about them was nigh impossible. He would reveal himself when he saw fit. 

Even so, it ate at Volfred, in a way. He felt both that he understood, and (with a rising sense of disorientation) that he did not truly  _want_  to understand. He did not know yet which side would win out.

He took a steadying breath, thin fingers rubbing along the lacquered surface of his pipe like a worry stone. “To answer your question, then, you already know the bulk of it. I am in good health, and in reasonable spirits. It is heartening to see our Plan coming together, and thrilling to see it preparing to face the first of what may be its final challenges. Even if it is somewhat nerve-wracking as well.” He paused to smoke a bit, before continuing. “You were there, too, when we first decided on the outlines of this Plan, were you not?”

“Aye, I was, sir.”

He glanced at Tariq sidelong. “And what is your opinion, then, here and now?”

“As always, sir, I believe it to be a noble goal, and I wish the best for the Nightwings in the coming Rite.”

“And…?”

Volfred watched Tariq carefully and let the question hang, a favorite tactic of his from his days in academia. The minstrel’s only response was a slight shift in his posture and a low, uncertain sound, as he weighed the cost of saying more and apparently found it difficult to balance. It was unusual to see him struggle so. Eventually, however, he raised his voice again, soft and steady as water on stone.

“It is good to see you working with the Nightwings to advance your Plan, and I have faith that as long as we continue to walk the path before us, all shall proceed according to the will of the Scribes.”

The change of tone might have been imperceptible to anyone else, but it was clear to Volfred, and it stuck like cinders in his throat. “But?”

“But, I did worry, sir, leaving when I did. I had to return to my duties and, as I said, I had faith that all would proceed according to the will of the Scribes. I believed, too, that they would continue to show you favor.” He straightened up a bit, and although his eyes were closed, his presence felt heavier somehow. Like a fog bank rolling over a summer morning. “Even so, what you experienced was no small matter.”

Volfred’s eyes slipped shut, almost involuntarily. What  _he_  experienced…he followed the implication, even as Tariq tried, diligently as ever, to write himself out of the story. They had both been there at the Fall; they had walked away together. “Time has a way of helping one to move past such things, if only a little.”

“Indeed it does.”

“You don’t believe  _I’ve_  done so yet.”

Tariq said nothing more, simply making a small sound of assent.

“And this is what’s worrying you so?”

The silence was an answer in itself, one that felt both laughable and enormous. Volfred was silent for a few long minutes, listening intently to the far, quiet rush of the Fall of Soliam as if it might cool him a bit even from this distance. His hands busied themselves with the familiar routine of tapping the now-cold ashes out of his pipe and refilling it, although he did not light it just yet. Instead, he spoke, his voice barely above a murmur, his eyes now open and focused on nothing in particular. “You could have said as much when I asked.”

“I did not want to influence your thinking unduly, sir.” Tariq, too, had grown quieter, and his fingertips moved against one another almost nervously, as if longing for the lute they usually held.

In spite of everything, Volfred found himself chuckling. “You should know by now that I invite your influence, Tariq.”

“I shall keep it in mind, sir.”

“Please do.” It was only now that Volfred felt his hands were steady enough for a match; he lit his pipe, and it smoldered gently as he pulled on it, exhaling a thin cloud of fragrant smoke a moment later. He offered the pipe to Tariq, only partly out of curiosity, and couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the minstrel’s bemused expression. Nonetheless, Tariq accepted it willingly, running his fingers briefly along the warm stem before raising it to his lips. He managed a rather expert series of smoke rings before he returned the pipe with a thoroughly mystifying smile of his own.

But, for his part, Volfred had had quite enough of being mystified for one evening, no matter how rewarding it was to see a smile gracing Tariq’s features. “Have you already forgotten to keep your own word?” he chided lightly.

“Nay, I have not.” The minstrel’s tone was more serious than expected, although his small smile didn’t falter.

Somehow Volfred felt like his roots were twisting themselves into knots but still he pressed on. “Well then, speak your mind.”

“Very well.” Tariq’s gaze was heavy-lidded but focused in its entirety on the sap sitting beside him. There was a split second, when he met that gaze, that Volfred realized he may have asked for more than he had thought. Tariq didn’t give him the opportunity to take back his words, instead beginning to speak, low but committed fully now to the sentiment he wished to express. “Long have I traveled with the exiles of the Nightwings, and long have I seen those same exiles ascend in the Liberation Rites, or live out the remainder of their lives in the Downside. Such is my duty to the Scribes. But you, sir, have given that duty a direction and a purpose, and for that I am deeply grateful.” He hesitated. “I find that I do not wish to simply watch you bear your burdens alone. Perhaps it is…uncouth to say so, but, if I may…” His gaze had wandered a bit, at a loss, but now it refocused with more than its usual intensity. “Rather, if you will allow me, I would offer whatever support that you would wish, given that I am capable of providing it.”

Despite how quietly he had been speaking, the silence that followed his declaration was profound. Volfred was momentarily stunned; he had understood on some level, of course, that this thread had been slipping in and out of the conversation, and had in fact hung like a spider’s web between them since they had reunited, since even before they had separated. But to hear it all at once, and from  _Tariq_  no less…

The silence continued long enough that Tariq finally averted his gaze with something like shame. “I apologize. Perhaps my words were too forward. Pay them no heed, Volfred, sir; I will leave you now to your rest.”

For the second time that evening Volfred found himself having to call the minstrel back, holding out a hand to halt his retreat. “No, Tariq, I…I did ask, and I am grateful to hear you say as much directly. Just, wait a moment, please.”

It was a lot to accept. Too much, for now. Perhaps for any time. Loss still gaped in him like a chasm, one that could, with some difficulty, be crossed, but never filled. But Tariq knew this, of course; he knew and offered no more than needed. He wasn’t bound in expectations. He simply existed, unmoving, ever-present, a center of gravity in himself. It was up to those around him to decide if they would, or could, venture closer.

It was too much, even so, but the idea didn’t strike Volfred through as deeply as he had feared. It sat on his chest, a physical pressure, until he relented, sighing away his tension. “Here, then,” he finally said, gesturing to the space immediately to his right. “Sit with me a while.”

Tariq was happy to do so, closing the space between them surprisingly quickly and raising no complaint when Volfred (tentatively) wrapped an arm around him. Even through thick bark and clothing, Tariq’s oddly intense warmth was impossible to ignore; it was pervasive, immaterial, but soothing in a strange way, much like the rest of him. It was as if the barrier between them was not as solid as it might appear.

Gradually, Volfred relaxed. Any chill that Mount Alodiel could inspire stood little chance when they sat so close. Tangled together, they awaited the dawn, and the promise that it brought.


End file.
